


To give you a happy ending

by LordessC



Series: Of Bastards and Broken Things [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (and scared of everything being one of Ramsay’s games), Actually it may be bad but I'll leave you judges of that, Also AU if Sansa hadn’t arrived, And Reek would not only have become paranoid, And have actually begun to believe Ramsay’s lies, But I kind of really regret doing so, But be even more broken, But well enjoy anyway I guess, Dark and disturbing, Drabble, F/M, Fluff but in a messed-up way which makes it disturbing af, I hate Stockholm Syndrome and this is basically this entire drabble, I have no idea why i wrote this, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of sex (consensual for once, OMG !), Poor Reek, Poor Theon, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Reading it made me feel awful, So Ramsay’s tortures would have continued even further, So yeah this is pretty messed up, This is awful but not bad just disturbing, mentions of torture, modern au???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordessC/pseuds/LordessC
Summary: Today, Master is in a particularly good mood. It can only mean one thing: he is sad, pained, heartbroken. And it hurts his Reek in every way. He wishes he could help Master, but he has no idea how, because he doesn’t know what is hurting him.Or: what if Reek had kept on being tortured by Ramsay for such a long time he would have developed Stockholm Syndrome? (Even though I hate it and can barely believe I wrote this?)





	To give you a happy ending

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are not here for fun, proceed at your own risks. I'm also pretty sure the only ones who could mildly enjoy reading this are Ramsay's fans or fans of Ramsay/Reek, who are definitely not people I ever intended to write for. Please proceed with caution and remember that Ramsay is a terrible person, that being loved because of Stockholm Syndrome is not a goal in life, and that torturing, raping and killing are not justified by having a terrible past. To put it in a nutshell: awful people are awful, don't be one of them, or bad things will happen to you. If you want to know which, read my other story. (Yes, I am advertising for my own fan fictions, and indeed, that makes ME the devil.)

Today, Master is in a particularly good mood: good enough to allow his Reek to eat some of the food scraps left from his lunch, good enough to hum cheerfully, good enough to hunt two girls in the same day, good enough to think of a new way to play with his pet, and good enough to apply it —Reek can still feel the burning ember lodged in a deep gash of what used to be his last unharmed little finger, probably because it is still there, though it has cooled by now. It can only mean one thing: he is sad, pained, heartbroken. And it hurts his Reek in every way. He wishes he could help Master, but he has no idea how, because he doesn’t know what is hurting him.

Myranda seemed to understand, kind of, since she brought him a gift —sharper knives with her name on it, how thoughtful—, helped him with his hunt even though he was so down he practically accomplished the task all by himself, then jumped on him to console him as best as she could. And now Reek can hear each of his grunts and of her moans and Reek knows she’s faking. She is never as loud, usually, or as sensual. She is doing it to comfort him. It makes Reek dislike her a little less, just a little. She truly loves Master. And Reek is grateful for it.

Still, it is not enough. When Master gets out of the bedroom, his naked body coated in a fine sheen of sweat and glistening in the evening light which only emphasizes his paleness and the love bites on his shoulders, neck and thigh —he looks bored. But Reek knows better, can see past the air of indifference, and understands only too well what it means. His condition has worsened. When he sits on his couch and places his elbow on the armrest, Reek whimpers, and throws himself at his feet.  
“Master.” He pants weakly, his trembling form pressing itself against his master’s legs, his hot breath warming the already cooling skin as he looks for the right words. “It was a fine hunt today, you were so brilliant, almost flying, and your aim was perfect, as it always is…” Master unconsciously runs a hand through his hair, signaling him to keep going. “These girls were lucky that someone as prodigious as you chose them as his preys, and they were so scared and hurt, just like I was this morning. I’d never have thought about something so ingenious as combining an open wound and embers, your mind is incredible, you are marvelous. Anyone who does not realize it is a fool, has never met you, or is simply too scared of you to admit it. I admire you, Master.”  
For an instant, it appears to work, as the ghost of a smile curves Master’s lips —but it disappears as soon as it had formed, and his frown returns to his face as quickly as it had been replaced. Reek whines and shivers, disappointed and even more worried as Master only rests his hand on his palm and lets out a disheartened noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh.  
“Go away.”  
Reek’s soul shatters, but the obedient pet complies without any form of resistance. Still, Reek has to do something.

Something. Something. But there is only one thing Reek can do.

With dejected resignation, he enters the bedroom to ask Myranda for advice. She is still in the bed, her nakedness barely hidden by the sheets, but doesn't seem bothered by Reek catching sight of one of her breasts or of her slit. She has seen his latter’s, after all, and he is nothing but a pet anyway.  
“What do you want?” She groans, permanently annoyed by his mere existence ever since her lover refused her idea to hunt him.  
He swallows the lump in his throat, pushing it further down, and speaks.  
“Why… Is Master like this today?”  
She suspires, giving up on her hatred for an instant as she realizes that the stupid creature and her share the same goal.  
“It’s his birthday. He doesn’t like it.”  
Somewhere inside of him, the word resonates, striking a chord. He knows it, though he is not sure how.  
“Why?”  
“I wish I could tell. I guess nobody likes it except for children. Aging is never fun. That’s why you give gifts to people on their birthday, really. To distract them from thinking about how they’re one year closer from becoming old and wrinkled.”  
“I don’t have any gift to offer.”  
“He doesn’t need anything from you anyway.” She spits out in pure disdain, but Reek knows she is lying. Still, it sounds like she does not have any more helpful information. Crestfallen, Reek exits the room to escape her venomous glare, and seeks refuge in the kitchen to avoid disturbing his master who fell asleep, certainly exhausted by all the efforts he made in a single day. Reek’s wide eyes water as the poor creature realizes its own uselessness. Even though Reek racks his brain desperately, searching for a way to soothe Master’s pain, it is all in vain. Reek cannot even help his master. Reek does not deserve such a master. Reek is purposeless, and Myranda is right to despise him. In his place, Master would already have found thousands of ideas to fix everything, but Reek cannot even think of one.

As Reek considers this, a cry comes from the living-room. Reek believes he has misheard, until another resonates, confirming his suspicions enough for him to risk a peek at the sofa, only to discover Ramsay trembling and whimpering. For a second, Reek hesitates, but, when Myranda does not arrive —she probably cannot hear his moans, or perhaps has fallen asleep too—, jolts up and limps to the couch, discerning a few recurring words amongst the flurry of mumbles and wails escaping Master’s mouth.  
“Mother, don’t… Don’t! Father… Please…”  
Reek frowns, his features distorting in a combination of pain and, somehow, understanding. Master’s tone reveals it all —distant mother, cold, despiteful father barely considering him as his son and deeming him as worthless. Reek wonders why he could grasp it so easily, and why he can relate. But it does not matter why, the only thing that counts is that thanks to it, _Reek knows exactly what to say._  
“It will be alright,” he whispers tenderly as he takes his hand in his own. “I love you.”  
And Master stops crying, as a soft, soothed smile illuminates his face.


End file.
